


The King on the Mountain

by queefqueen



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Asshole Thorin, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:12:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queefqueen/pseuds/queefqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Elrond had kicked out the dwarrows for their crass behaviour at Imladris? Movieverse. The world is Tolkien's blah blah</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King on the Mountain

Lonely Mountain 2941, December

Thorin wrapped his furs tighter. He was cold. Temperatures were below freezing but the wind kept the snow off the face the mountain enabling them to continue their search for the hidden door. Not that they – or rather HIM – had any choice. It was "do or die" for him.

His two nephews were gone and he could not face their mother with empty hands. The two twits – how could eighty year old dwarves, grown-ups for forty years or so - behave like Mannish ten year olds? – had decided to make a snow-dwarrow HERE and NOW – meaning just over a precipice. And each HAD to be the one to put the potato on its nose. Their thoughtless wrestling over this honour saw them tumble over the edge. He shuddered at the memory of their smashed bodies and their pathetic "Kee" and "Fee" squeals of terror as they fell.

The Company was getting smaller by the day. Bombur joined his kin as splat at the foot of the cliff, while Bifur and Ori had frozen to death. The Burgler was probably next to die by the cold.

He went back to tapping the stone for signs of hidden door along his section of the path. To his left he could hear Balin tapping. The myopic dwarf could do at least that – the poor sod was blind as a bat and thought it had been him - and not Dain - killing Azog at Azanulbizar. To his right he had Dori banging away at the rock face. Mahal, was he cold and miserable ... !

His mind drifted back to the den of the oath breaking elfs – of that slimy lordling Elrond. Tharkun had assured him that the elf could read his map. Maybe he should have shown it to him  ...

"OUT AND STAY OUT!" – hurhur – the lordling was furious at them for using some "flimsy" furniture for a campfire. And for "missing" the privies and "doing their business" in the gardens or rarely frequented corridors. Hurrrhurr. Stuck up git! But the look on his face was priceless! Maybe peeing in front of the harpist was laying things a bit thick ...

Good times that, hurhurr. Even though they had been thrown out the very next day and never got to show the map to the elf - something Tharkun had insisted upon. But what did Tharkun know anyway ...

Warmed by the memory of their hilarious exploits in Rivendel Thorin blew hot air on his blueish fingers to warm them. Once he was capable of grasping the hammer again he went back to tapping the rock.


End file.
